There’s still room around the edges, so I fill it with white wax flower. I add a few more layers, then pick up the original arrangement and place it inside the new vase.

I cut and wipe the stems of the leather like I’ve seen Tracy do it, then set them in the vase so they make a circle around the rim. I hardly know what I’m doing as I grab the leather and three lavender dahlias. “Okay,” I say, and some part of me snaps and bursts into action. And I’ve seen the way you decorate the shop for me! I know you have an eye for color and order.” “You’ve seen me do it before, right? You know what it’s supposed to look like. “And grab more leather and those lavender dahlias.” Grab that vase there-” She points behind her. I smile sympathetically, but when I place the arrangement on the table in front of Tracy, she shakes her head at me. Do you mind making it larger? I have to take it…to…a funeral.” She says the last words on a heaving breath. She’s holding a premade bouquet from the cooler, one full of white and lavender flowers that I haven’t learned the names of yet.

A young woman approaches me, looking like she’s about to burst into tears. I want to stand and watch her all day, but more customers have arrived, and I have to go on delivery soon. I help her strip the white roses of their excess leaves and cut them down to size while she arranges them.

She starts working on the funeral piece, her fingers skillfully placing each wide fern leaf (which Tracy calls “leather”) into the green foam. I run to the sink and grab the soaking green foam and help Tracy cut it down to fit in the basket. “Help me here, sweetie,” she whispers, when I’m close enough to hear. When everything is locked up, I head to the front of the shop-only to have Tracy call me back to the designer’s table again. I pick them up, only able to carry four or five sets at a time, and put them with the roses. The car is wide open and full to the brim with flowers of all different colors and sizes. I take the opportunity, practically running outside. Bee, can you get the rest in the back of the car and lock it? I’ll help our lovely customers.” “Hello!” she cheers, laying the roses on the table. Ten minutes later, Tracy stumbles through the back door holding six dozen wrapped roses, three dozen under each arm. It’s terrifying, but I try not to think about it. It’s almost like she’s watching every move I make. The woman mumbles something under her breath, but waits by the front desk.

The color project by sierra abrams